tell me these words are a lie
by hawkeyeforever
Summary: A story on Natasha's character, and her relationship with Clint. How they become more than just partners. How she realizes that she has something, everything to lose. How she fights for him, and for everything he's taught her.


tell me these words are a lie

**A/N: It's been awhile since I've posted something. I know I should be working on my other stories, but I couldn't get the idea for this one out of my head. Clintasha is by far one of my all time favorite pairings, so I just had to write this. The title comes from the song "Tears of an Angel" by RyanDan. I own nothing, not the song or the characters in this story. I write for fun, not for profit.**

**-:-**

She lives in a world of lies. She spins them as easily as her namesake spins their webs, reveling in the destruction something so small and seemingly fragile can bring. She weaves them around herself, drawing in her prey with a pretty smile and batted eyelashes, before moving in for the kill with a sinister grin on her ruby lips. The ivory strands protect her, covering all the scars that litter her body.

She takes pride in the fact that no one can see how utterly fake her shell is. Sure, they all know that she is a liar, a given considering her job description, but they don't know the fear that drives her to lie as she does. They don't know the rawness that accompanies each scar that marks her skin. They don't realize the true horrors that are the only things she's ever known, the kind that motivate her to protect her heart above all else.

He does though. Of course he does. He's seen and done things that only a person like herself can ever possibly understand. They are intimately aware of what it is like to have hands permanently stained with the blood of the innocent, the dripping ledger that comes with pasts like theirs. So it is no surprise that they find themselves in each other's presence more often than not.

They are very aware of the line that they will not, cannot cross. This doesn't stop them from straying very close to it, until it is one with them. It is the invisible barrier that stops him from telling her the words he knows she will not reciprocate. It is the shadow that clings to her body, preventing her from finding solace in his arms at night when that line is hard to distinguish.

They will never admit to themselves that they are denying themselves the happiness of passion, of protection, of love. They think they don't deserve it.

**-:-**

It takes a botched mission in Budapest, Hungary to show her the true meaning of fear. She thinks that this is what it must feel like to be caught in a web, this feeling of being helpless to help him as a bullet brings him to his knees. Memories flash before her eyes as she rushes to him, praying to a god that neither of them believe in for him _to just hang on._

She manages to stop the bleeding, and convinces herself that it is only the pain in her chest from the broken ribs (Kevlar vests can stop a bullet, but not stop them from wrecking internal damage) that causes tears to leak from her eyes. Her lips quiver as she drags him into an abandoned warehouse in the middle of the night, curling against him protectively.

Stories of her life fall from her lips, things she has never told anyone, not even her partner. She lets the pent up emotions that linger from her past to pass between them. He helps her bare the brunt of the weight of the world, and in return he keeps his eyes open for her.

A little bit of red disappears from her ledger that night.

They never can agree on what happened there, that lonely night in a dark city, surrounded by silence and pain. He remembers drifting through darkness as the pain in his stomach engulfs him. He remembers holding his partner close to him as she tells him who she really is, who she wants to be, who she was in a past life. He remembers the sheer longing to cross that uncrossable line, to tell her that he _understands. _He remembers the feeling of being in love.

She remembers the terrifying realization of the fact that she has something, _everything _to lose. She remembers the determination to hold onto the only real and true thing that she's ever known. She remembers being unmade, and remade in the silence between their heartbeats. But mostly she remembers that she will do anything to insure that she repays this man for everything he's done for her.

It becomes an unspoken agreement to not mention that night, except for in passing. It becomes harder for them to remember the reason for not crossing that line.

**-:-**

"_Is there anything real about you?"_

Those six words…..they haunt her in a way she never expected. It occurs to her that, if her partner was here with her, she wouldn't think twice about it. She would relay it to him over their take-out Chinese dinner, and he would brush it off with a smirk and a sincere smile.

But he isn't here. He's hundreds of miles away from her, in New Mexico, watching over a hammer that gives the sword in the stone a run for its money. And so she's left to ponder over the words in her far-too-empty apartment, cursing the Council for splitting their partnership up for the time being.

She internally berates herself for having gone soft enough to be effected by the genius-billionaire-narcissistic-playboy's inquiry. But she can't help but wonder…..

_Is _there anything real about her?

Everything she owns, says, does, _thinks, _is the product of having been pulled apart and reassembled one-too-many times by those of "higher power." She isn't Natalie Rushman, or even Natasha Romanoff. She is the Black Widow: a liar, a murderer, an assassin, an agent, a woman with a ledger more red than her trademark Russian-red hair.

It isn't until she hears her phone ring the familiarly obnoxious tune that Barton set it to for when he calls that she finds a sense of peace. As her heart does this sort of jump-skip-flutter in her chest that she forces herself not to give too much thought to, she smiles the first real smile since being given this damn mission.

She may not be real to herself, but she's Tasha, and that's more than enough for her.

**-:-**

She visits him once in New Mexico, between the Stark-fiasco of a mission and heading out to Russia to take out a mob member. They watch rented movies on his grainy TV (S.H.I.E.L.D's budget is _shit_) and eat Italian take-out in his dingy apartment near the New Mexican base.

She's still wearing one of those borderline-slutty dresses that went along with her mission criteria, and he's still wearing a faded black t-shirt and jeans with holes in them, but they are both comfortable for the first time in weeks.

She has to avoid his watchful grey-blue eyes as she feels the tension in her chest ease as he makes a sarcastic comment in response to a line in the movie, for fear that he might see something that she can't deal with.

But she's _home, _and that's all that really matters, in the end.

**-:-**

"_Barton's been compromised."_

Her world stops turning the second that the full impact of Coulson's words slam into her chest. Her heart responds accordingly, and it's all she can do to hold herself together as she scans the screens on the hellicarrier for signs of her partner. She wills herself to stay strong for him, because she knows that he would for her.

She also knows that, if she is able to get him back, then he will face the wrath of the Council, Fury, and Hill, but she can worry over that particular matter later.

Fighting with him, in the catwalks above the Detention Level, is the single most terrifying combat in her entire life. She is fighting for everything that keeps her sane, keeps her whole, and it never occurs to he is holding back. A wave of unexpected guilt crushes her as he whispers her name just as she punches him in the face. She has to grab onto the metal bars to stop her hands from trembling as she takes in his still form. Thoughts of a night in Budapest bring painful tears to her eyes as she realizes that she cannot live without this man.

This man, he's saved her from countless things, even herself. He saw through her walls to the part of her that was crumbling, and he rebuilt her. He made her strong, gave her something to fight for. Taught her that there are ways to wipe out her ledger. And seeing him, fighting with himself and falling into a chasm of guilt and horror, it nearly breaks her.

There are many words that she could say to him at the moment when he opens his eyes and they are the stormy-grey-blue like the sea during a storm, but words of comfort are foreign to her. She doesn't bother wasting her breath on things that will only fall on deaf ears. He knows her too well to believe her good-intentioned lies.

She wants to tell him that she is proud of him for not giving up. She wants to say that he is the greatest person she's ever met. She wants him to know that she has never been more happy than when he opens his familiar eyes. She wishes she knew the right words to describe exactly who he is to her. But she doesn't, and he knows, so it's alright.

She manages to convey all her feelings in the only words she has to offer to him.

_I've been compromised._

What neither of them say lingers in the space between their breaths. All the words unspoken weigh heavily on the air around them.

_You scared me. I thought I was going to lose you. Don't do that to me again you ass. I can't live without you. You mean everything to me. I need you to tell me you will always be here. Tell me that we are strong enough to get past this._

She wonders if he can see all of these thoughts when he stares into her eyes. She's not sure if she wants to know the answer.

_I've got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out._

What she is really saying is: I still need you to teach me how to be good. Don't you ever think that you will fight this alone.

The line is but a thought, in that moment, when she comes to terms with the fact that she _almost lost him._ That something _almost took him away from her. _She wades into this war, not because she has to, not because she wants to; she does it in the hope that it will clear away some of the fear in her partner's eyes.

**-:-**

She is completely unaware of the other four people at the table while they eat Shawarma. She and he are unable to look away from each other. He looks like he is trying to soak in the fact that she is _alright_, that she's _alive, _and she knows that she is doing the same.

The world almost fell apart around them, and there will still be hell to pay in the next few days, but they are both _alive _and _together. _There is nothing that can hurt them for now.

They don't think of the line that should still be there, but isn't. They don't bother trying to explain how this is happening. All they know is that they don't have forever. They have _this _and _now, _and they've never truly appreciated that before. They fall into each other's arms that night, and think _I'm home._

**-:-**

**A/N: Thought I'd try my hand at writing some Clintasha. Not entirely sure that this is any good, but it's the only real productive thing I've written in the past month. I'm honored if you want to favorite this story, but if you do so, will you please take the time to leave a review as well? It would be much appreciated. **

**-Hawk**


End file.
